


sometimes things aren't as they seem and nothing is really that simple

by dickbuttsupreme



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-16
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:19:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickbuttsupreme/pseuds/dickbuttsupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It never once before occurred to Tony Stark that Steve Rogers, the pinnacle of American heroism and all that was supposed to be right in the world, would have inherited certain unscrupulous ideologies held by the 1940s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Minor spoilers for the movie in this chapter, and most likely larger ones later. Those will be warned for again in the relevant chapter, though.

Neither was sure why they were here.

Not in a philosophical existential-crisis way where they were questioning their existence or anything, but rather why they were physically located here, alone, seated on a park bench by one of those traveling burrito vans Tony had been needling the team about for the last week to make up for the Shawarma incident.

Objectively, they both understood that somewhere along the way, everyone else had cancelled and hence it was just the two of them. That explained the ‘alone’ part easy enough.

The aspect of the question they were both avoiding was why they didn’t just cancel like all the others, especially considered that the last time they talked one-on-one without anyone refereeing, it almost came to blows.

Maybe it was just a matter of pulling each other away from their respective prisons—Steve from a government-funded apartment in a time and place he didn’t know, and Tony from yet another 72 hours filled with tinkering, endless cups of coffee, and the most important of the three: not a wink of sleep—and they were both willing to put up with one another to get away from it all. But mulling over that wasn’t the sort of conversation that was appropriate for burritos in the park.

In fact, when they both showed up and realized that no one else was coming, it seemed like any sort of conversation was inappropriate if the overwhelming silence was any indication. Well, there were a few murmured comments on the quality of the food, but that hardly counted in either’s book, especially when the next few minutes were occupied by a whole lot of nothing.

Swallowing heavily, Steve couldn’t help but feel somehow reminded of talking to Peggy in the car before everything changed, finally gathering the strength of will to actually speak. “So, is Bruce staying at your place?”

“I’d hope so, or else the entire wardrobe filled with ripped pants I put together would be for nothing.”

Everything else just fell into place.

Not that the conversation didn’t carry a certain sliver of discomfort for either of them. Steve’s smile was uncertain, words carefully chosen, like he was doing his best to wade into this exchange of words slowly in apprehension of screwing it up.

Tony, of course, called him out on this in the politest way he knew how to, eyebrows raised critically and burrito halfway in his mouth. That was the point when Steve’s smile broke impossibly into a bright grin and Tony couldn’t help but think ‘jesus christ, someone get Colgate on the line because this kid’s a tooth model’.

The conversation was probably what could be considered nice, if you were the type of person to enjoy leisurely social meals in the park, which Tony assured himself he was not. Not nice, then. Easy. Which wasn’t too bad, which kind of looped around to the concept of it being nice again and this was kind of becoming a jumble of circular reasoning that was making him almost introspective and he couldn’t have that, so he just cut off that entire thought train. He didn’t need it.

What he did need was to get back to work, because with machines there was certainty and a sense of concrete answers. Sure, it might take some picking apart to figure out how they worked, but you couldn’t even do that with people. Unless you were a serial killer and if that was the case, Tony mused one probably had more problems than understand others to deal with.

Wow, he really couldn’t get his brain to shut up today. This was almost ridiculous. “So, sitting at parks feeding pigeons might be an acceptable activity for a ninety-year-old such as yourself, but I assure you I am not at that crisis point in my life yet. I do, however, play a mean game of bingo, but that’s really neither here nor there, so if you’ll…” He trailed off, crumpling his wrapper in his hand, as he abruptly realized that Steve was not paying attention to him.

People simply did not ignore Tony Stark.

And, more alarmingly, Steve Rogers simply did not _not_ listen to people.

He was the type of guy that was always thoroughly concentrated on the person he was conversing with, nodding along with the conversation, returning one’s gaze focused and clear, and just generally giving off the air that there was nothing more important than what the other person was saying, whether the topic was actually earth-shattering or something as asinine as the weather. If Tony had to honestly describe it, he’d say it was refreshing. Also hopelessly out-of-date and naïve for the here and now, but refreshing nonetheless.

With no small degree of irritation, he followed Steve’s gaze to whatever it was he found so much more interesting than Tony trying to flee the scene.

It wasn’t anything of note. Just a couple walking along the foot path, hand-in-hand. One of them lifted their intertwined fingers to press a kiss to the back of the other’s palm, eliciting a flutter of eyelashes and a rosy smile, and it was so Nicholas-Sparks-bestseller Tony was tempted to turn to Steve and make him promise to smack him if he ever saw him looking like that.

Never being one to pass up a little temptation, Tony’s mouth started to open with the intention of doing just that, but Steve was still outright entranced by this scene, lips pressed into a firm line and brow showing the slightest hint of a furrow. Sure, PDA probably made him squirm and blush like a schoolgirl, but this was hardly even PG, so why would he—

 _Oh_.

It’s because they’re both men.

It, disturbingly enough for someone that tried to stay on top of the situation, never once occurred to him that Steve Rogers, the pinnacle of American heroism and all that was supposed to be right in the world, would have inherited certain unscrupulous ideologies held by the 1940s.

All he wanted to do was laugh, whether as a way to brush aside the scenario or to just take some sort of satisfaction out of the fact that Steve Rogers wasn’t as much of a do-gooder as he probably believed, but all that came out was a short, ugly shell of a chuckle. Alright. “I’m taking off.” Tossing his trash away—and thankfully making it, wouldn’t want to make this abrupt departure anymore awkward—he rose to his feet, not really sparing the other another glance before he was striding away purposely.

Steve’s attention must have snapped back to him, because he started with a “Oh, uh, bye?” that sounded so completely unaware and confused that it almost made Tony feel like he was the one at fault here.

But that twinge of irritation before had just spread underneath his skin into a persistent itch and he wished it was somehow tangible so he could scratch at it or. Or just do something. Because right now he just felt pissed and not necessarily at Captain America or Steve or even just the age he came from.

It came with a rush of uncertainty and doubt, and he really wasn’t on good terms with either of those.

“See you around, Cap.” He raised his hand in the most half-hearted wave possible, keeping his back to the blonde dismissively.

Well. That went well.


	2. Chapter 2

If there was one thing Tony Stark was good at, aside from the whole being a complete genius in his field and throwing quite a mean party if he did say so himself, it was getting under other people’s skin. And, as an individual who bordered on being petty on _very_ rare occasions, he had a rule that if you get under his skin, he gets under yours.

And Steve Rogers, without a doubt, definitely did just that.

Not purposely, of course, the good Captain wasn’t the type to set out to do that, unlike himself, but who really cares about the details. Tony certainly didn’t.

So, yes, one of his innate talents was pinpointing what exactly bothered someone and then proceeding to metaphorically shove it down their throat, and wow, that metaphor ended up being more amusingly apt for the situation than he intended.

He planned to start small.

Tony had constructed floors in what was once merely Stark Tower—though the idea of a creation of his being described as ‘merely’ didn’t sit well with him—entirely without consulting any of the members about it, with one exception. Bruce, temporarily housed in a guest-room-turned-lab, pointed out that the plans were entirely lacking in bathrooms. He knew he kept him around for a reason.

Because _of course_ the team was all going to move in. Who wouldn’t want to live in La Casa Stark?

For some reason, this came as a surprise to everyone else. Weird.

Everything went as smoothly as possible when the fact that they were a veritable explosive mixture of people was taken into consideration, and one by one everyone made Stark Tower their home.

By the time it was Moving Day for Steve, Tony had a weird sort of energy thrumming through his veins he didn’t quite know what to do with and he spent the whole morning on the logistics of an entire upheaval of the Star-Spangled Boy’s floor’s security system. Which just so happened to place him smack dab in the middle of his bedroom with an entire section of the wall out when Steve arrived carrying his things.

What a crazy coincidence that was in no way premeditated.

He practically jumped up, leaving the screwdriver he was using amongst a group of wires and panels and various tidbits anyone else would be at a complete loss with, offering the other his grease-covered hand. Obviously, Steve took it in a handshake. He always was so polite. “Welcome to my humble abode,” his mouth pulled into a tight smile for a moment, “I would offer to help you with your bags, but you don’t really need any help, right big guy?” He smacked his upper arm appreciatively and spun around, Steve taking the opportunity to wipe his hand off on the thigh of his pants, frowning at the grey streak it left.

“Uh, thanks.” He wasn’t really sure what he was thanking him for. Maybe for the welcome, or maybe for the whole entire ‘moving him out of government housing’ thing, although now that he was here he was a bit overwhelmed amongst the wall of windows and mysterious sentient voices and audaciousness luxury of the architecture.

“Oh, hey, since you’re here, and I’m here, I’ll give you a tour. Wouldn’t want you to be surprised when you discover the automatic-bidet.” He twirled on his heel again to face the America Hero, that same energy from earlier rearing its head through the restlessness tapping of his feet.

Steve thought the stars and stripes bedding—complete set with matching pillowcases and canopy curtains that Tony rather tenderly put up himself—was old-fashioned and yet another jab at his brief stint in show-business (it was), that the shorter man’s suggestion of an automated changing system much like his own was ridiculous, and that his flippant mention of hidden cameras for the security was probably closer than the truth than his joking tone made it out to be. So basically, the tour went almost script-perfect along with both of their expectations.

While this exchange made the curve of Steve’s mouth both a bit worn yet exasperatedly fond in a way Tony took special care not to pay too much attention to, the brunette’s own smile just kept growing at every non-too-subtle poke, both metaphorically and literally in the case of him pushing the taller gentleman around the bed with a prod of fingers into the muscle of his lower back to show him the projected alarm clock screen. You know, so he wouldn’t wake up in the wee hours of the morning wondering how numbers got on his ceiling

This method worked so perfectly at leading Cap right where he wanted, why wouldn’t he continue to use it? But he probably wouldn’t put up with too much jabbing, so the fingers were replaced by the flat of his palm, possibly lower than before with the edge of his pinky barely brushing the top of his belt as he led him towards the bathroom. “Last but not least. It’s pretty much outfitted with everything you need,” his gaze flickers upwards, “well, you might have to pick up something to style that charmingly antique hairdo, but besides that.”

He brushed past the other, arm flung wide with false grandeur as he rattled off its contents—“walk-in closet, marble sink, toilet with a bidet, which, did I mention I am so looking forward to you discovering, and finally”—his steps took him right up to the clear glass of the shower door, reaching out to open it although its transparency made it a completely superfluous action. “Your shower with room for two in the case that you’re both more adventurous than I gave you credit for and in possession of ladyfriend.” There was a pause as color already started to touch Steve’s cheeks, eyes glancing away in a path that looked suspiciously like the start of a surprisingly sassy eye roll, lips already parting in some sort of denial, but then Tony just kept right on talking. “Or a boyfriend, if you’re into that sort of thing. Is boyfriend the term I’m thinking of? Maybe boytoy works better. Help me out here, Steve.”

Tony leaned forward, eyes narrowing and an abrupt mock seriousness to his expression. He could not make it more obvious that he was looking for a reaction if he tried, and for a moment it was very reminiscent of his whole ‘poke the Hulk with this stick’ plan. Except it wasn’t like Steve was going to charge him or anything.

At least he hoped not. Having to replace an entire shower in the first day wouldn’t bode well for the future of the living budget.

But no, Steve didn’t look angry. Positively scandalized, yes. Angry, not at all.

Tony couldn’t help the quirk to his lips and upwards twitch of his brow at the dark color flooding Steve’s face, bubbling over to the tips of his ears and neck, and the incoherent noise that fell from his lips. He just looked so wholly horrified at the suggestion that it just got funnier the more Tony watched him, which nicely drowned out this ambiguous feeling of regret pulling at his chest.

This was fine. He wouldn’t really have to deal with this, as long as he turned it into one big joke.

If there was one thing he was a master at, besides getting under people’s skin, it was not dealing.

\-------

It was the middle of the night when Jarvis coolly informed Tony that he was receiving an emergency call from Steve. With a lot more groaning and whining than was strictly necessary, he rolled over to his nightstand, finger mashing uselessly against the plastic of the receiver a few times before finally hitting the correct button. “Yeah?” It wasn’t much more than an exhale, muffled as he flopped his head down against the pillow. Maybe Steve drowned in the toilet and he could get back to sleep.

“I, um. I think I broke the toilet.” Steve was quiet and worried and in a more conscious state of mind, Tony would’ve enjoyed the tone of uncertainty.

But instead he just propped himself up, mouth twisting in sleepy displeasure at the phone like Steve could somehow see it. “How?” He yawned, trying to mentally prepare himself for the idea of considering leaving his bed.

“I don’t know, it just,” Steve’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper and wasn’t that precious, “it just sprayed me.”

There was a moment when Tony simply stared at the other’s name flashing on the screen, before his mouth cracked into a grin and he couldn’t help the sudden bark of laughter that was probably doing nothing but confusing the blonde. “Oh, congratulations. You found the bidet.”


End file.
